Colour of a Carnival
by Guardian-381
Summary: Pre-canon. The story of how Laila came to be in Noir's service.
1. In the Cards

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Gorgeous Carat. I recognize that this story owes a great debt to Kasey Chambers' "Carnival" album, of which "Colour of a Carnival" is the first song.

Dedication: For Astra, who asked for this story. If it's been ruined by my glaring lack of skill, you have only yourself to blame. :P

Chapter 1: In the Cards

"Alright, everyone; that should do it for rehearsal. Get ready to make some magic tonight!"

With this, the customary dismissal, the rest of the performers begin to exit the main tent; some move more slowly than others, largely due to physical disabilities, but I smile lovingly at each of them as they pass. I recognize with no small amount of regret that most ordinary people wouldn't even be able to look at some of them without their faces contorting in disgust, but they are my best friends, my family. I can't imagine life without each of them, exactly as they are in this moment.

As they file out, I go up to the ringleader, who favours me with a smile. When I joined this troupe as a tightrope walker two years ago, he introduced himself as Joseph; since then, I've heard rumours that this name is not his own, and that he changed it to escape from some dark aspect of his past, but I don't really care about any of that. He took me in when I was just a scared little girl with no place to go, and he's never been anything but kind to me. What does his name matter, compared to that?

"Laila," he says. "I especially enjoyed your improvised finale today."

I feel my cheeks reddening. "I'm glad you liked it." I look up at him, and smile. "May I go study with Madame Dionne until it's time to get ready for the show?"

Joseph's smile becomes a grin. "You've taken an interest in fortune telling, it seems. Please don't tell me that I'm about to lose one of my most gifted performers."

I shake my head. "No, nothing like that. I just…" I shrug. "It's interesting."

"Really?" His expression becomes more serious. "What about it interests you?"

I meet his eyes, and consider my answer carefully, more for my own sake than his. "I like the idea of it… that you might be able to know what's going to happen before it happens. That, if bad things are coming, at least you won't be surprised." A spike of regret scrapes against the inside of my chest, and I frown.

His gaze becomes compassionate. "Do you really think that it would help anything, knowing in advance?"

I blink. "Of course. If we could prepare for things, they wouldn't be so hard to deal with when they came."

He stares at me gravely for a few moments, and then he laughs, as though we've just been engaged in an ordinary, light exchange. "Alright, then. Go keep an eye out for any incoming disasters, and report them back to me before showtime." He claps a hand on my shoulder, and I revel in its warmth. "Have fun."

"I always do," I reply honestly as I leave the tent.

----

I enter Madame Dionne's small tent cautiously, mindful of how easily her work can be disrupted. She is, however, absent, and so I wait, entertaining myself with the miscellaneous, often arcane trinkets which decorate the compact tables and shelves arranged against the tent walls. By the time I've inspected each of these, she still hasn't returned, and I turn my attention to the deck of Tarot cards on the central table. Their primitive images have a certain washed-out quality, but I find them comforting, like the security blanket that I can barely remember clutching.

The tent flap rustles, and a flash of sunlight alerts me to the presence of someone else. I set the cards back down on the table, knowing how particular Madame Dionne can be about her things, but the figure standing between me and the tent's only exit is most assuredly not that of the tent's rightful occupant. Rather, I find myself facing a thin man, about my age, with dark hair and green eyes which both shimmer in the tent's dim candlelight. He is young, I realize in the next breath, but the way he carries himself, not to mention the wisdom beyond those beautiful eyes, tells me that he is not to be underestimated. I ask myself whether he might be dangerous, and decide that he poses no immediate threat.

"Good afternoon," he says. His French is lightly accented, but nowhere near as bastardized as my own. "Are you the fortune teller?"

I open my mouth to answer him, intending to tell him that Madame Dionne will be back in a moment, and so am shocked to hear myself say, "Yes, I am. Please, have a seat," as I take her usual place at the table.

He sits on the stool across from me, and I push the Tarot deck across to him; my hand quivers, but just barely. "Shuffle the cards; if you have a particular question, focus on that as you do." I wonder, as I repeat the words I've heard Madame Dionne speak so many times, what possessed me to lie to this stranger. As he hands the shuffled deck back to me, and I close my hand around it, an answer springs into my mind, as fully formed as though it were whispered into my ear.

_Fate. _

I close my eyes against the ridiculousness of the thought, against the urge to blame destiny for my own faults. When I open them, I realize that the stranger is staring at me, and guarded concern is present in his eyes. "Are you well, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, yes." I clear my throat. "Just… focusing."

Gentleness replaces the concern in his eyes, and though it seems that he wants to smile, he does not. "I see. I apologize for interrupting you."

I swallow, and shake my head. "Oh, not at all. I'm ready." I draw a deep breath as I arrange the top four cards of the deck in a horizontal line on the table between us. "Did you ask a specific question of the cards?"

"You tell me," he replies, in a tone that is almost infuriatingly confident.

I turn over the first card from the left, and reveal the Emperor. "A dominant male, who obeys a strict code of conduct and commands the respect of others…" I glance up at him, and meet his amused eyes. "Does that sound something like you?"

"Perhaps," he agrees, and smirks.

"I'm not surprised," I mutter under my breath as I turn over the next card: the Two of Wands, reversed. "This card usually means dominion of some kind… upside-down like this, though, it means that you've recently freed yourself from something that's been holding you back." I want to ask how close I've come, but the stricken look that passes over his face is all the answer I need, and so I continue with the third card.

"The Two of Pentacles…" I run my fingers over the card's surface. "There's been a great change in your life… it may also refer to the situation that you've just escaped." I tap my index finger against the card's edge. "The change may still be in progress."

"You are very gifted, Mademoiselle," he says, and his voice is just the slightest bit thicker than it was before. Had I not been schooled in the nuances of human behaviour, I would never have noticed it.

"Thank you," I say, almost completely absorbed in the role, and the accompanying power, of the wise woman. I turn over the final card, and the Lovers' blissful gaze catches my own. "You are on your way toward a great love, which will be reciprocated." Something seems to take control of me then, just long enough to twist my face into a smirk not unlike that which this man turned on me moments ago and make me say, "Beware, though. Great loves carry the most potential for danger."

He studies the cards as though I am not there, almost as though he's facing down some spectre of himself, and I am about to say something else when he says, very softly, "Believe me, Mademoiselle, I am well aware of the perils of great love." He looks up, and though he is smiling, I am aware of the depth of emotion that painfully-thin expression conceals. "Thank you. Would that there were more like you in your profession, and less charlatans."

"There are charlatans in every profession," I reply, perhaps too cynically.

He laughs aloud. "True enough." From his breast pocket, he produces a few bank notes, several times the usual price of a Tarot reading. "Please keep the change as a token of my appreciation."

That same recklessness possesses my tongue again, and I force myself to meet his eyes instead of gawking at the bank notes. "I'd rather have your name, Sir."

He seems taken aback, but that quickly melts into a smile that is part roguishness, part amusement, and part sincere delight. "You can think of me as Noir." The name, so obviously not the one his parents gave him, slides off his tongue with the ease of truth, and I smile inwardly as I begin to realize how appropriate it is.

"Thank you," I say, somewhat embarrassed by my own forwardness.

"Not at all," he replies. "And yours?"

I clear my throat, and he chuckles. "Laila," I manage. "My name is Laila."

"It has been a pleasure, Laila." He inclines his head to me, almost deferentially, and I have to force myself not to blush. "You are from the East, aren't you?"

I hesitate. "Yes, I am. Have you visited there?"

He laughs again, and I quite nearly lose myself in the sparkle of his eyes. "You might say that," he says as he gets to his feet. "I should be going."

"Of course," I say, and though I do not rise, I return his deferential nod. "Thank you for your patronage."

The sight of his departing back feels nowhere near as final as it should.


	2. The Emperor

Chapter 2: The Emperor

"What a performance. You are truly multitalented, Laila."

He does not so much step from the shadows between the clustered performers' tents as coalesce from them, like dew from the morning air. I stop beside him, and try to decipher the reason for my heart's pounding even as I attempt to slow it. Am I afraid, as any sane woman would be in this situation, or is something else quickening each of my body's involuntary processes, rendering my breaths so shallow that my lungs nearly cry aloud for air?

"I've had a good teacher, and a lot of practice." Is that really my voice, so calm, so steady?

"No doubt." He stops short of the makeshift alley's mouth, and I note that he has left at least two avenues of escape open to me. "Is there somewhere we may speak privately?"

I glance back the way I came, then toward my own small tent, which will barely be big enough for both of us to occupy comfortably. No one is in sight, and I take this as a sign that I should seize my opportunity. _Desperate people see signs in everything_, Madame Dionne's voice warns me, but I shake her wisdom off.

I don't mind being desperate, if the trade-off is the chance to be with him.

----

My tent turns out to be even smaller than I recall, and although we're at opposite ends of it, I can hear his whispered words almost perfectly. "Do you know the ringmaster personally?"

"Joseph?" He nods, and I do the same. "Yes, of course I do. He's been like a father to me."

He seems to wince, inexplicably. "Would you say you're aware of everything he does?"

Apprehension drapes me like a shroud, and I try unsuccessfully to shrug it off. "What kind of question is that?" I demand in a vain attempt to avoid it.

Noir stares at me, and I feel as though he's torn me open, itemized every bit of me, and sewn me back up by the time that he finally closes his eyes and sighs with what sounds like, but couldn't possibly be, relief. "You don't know," he says, and though the words come out as a statement, there's a note to them that would still allow me to contradict him, if I so chose.

"Know what?" My own voice is quickly becoming frantic, tainted by my instinct to protect Joseph. "What do you think he's done?"

That weighing gaze transfixes me again, and I am aware that I am being tested, as one might test a shelf before choosing to display a particularly precious trophy upon it. "I don't 'think'. I know what he's done." He alters his stance slightly, leaning a bit more heavily on his right leg. "I'll spare you most of it; it doesn't interest me, and I don't see any reason to inflict it on you. Only one of his transgressions is important to me."

"He's done nothing wrong." My nails dig into my palm, and I force my fist to unclench. "You're mistaken."

"Oh, believe me, I am not." He adjusts the cuff of his jacket. "Your Joseph, Mademoiselle, is a thief."

"Oh, please--"

"I am not finished," he says, and my voice leaves me. "Four nights ago, a certain gem entered his possession. It belongs to someone far more powerful than he, and his is not the first pair of hands that it has entered on its way to its unlawful owner." His hands fall back to his sides, and resolve glints in his eyes like honed steel. "I intend to make sure that it goes no further."

I swallow, trying to process this information more quickly than my numbed mind will allow. "He can't… it can't be him." _Four nights ago_… A flash ignites in my mind. "There was a performance that night."

"And he could have accepted the gem at any point before or after that performance." Noir's tone is matter-of-fact, as though he's discussing some distant matter, something whose very existence doesn't have the power to shake my world.

"I would have known." My faith begins to falter, and I clutch at it. I can nearly feel it brushing teasingly against my fingertips, like the silken train of an escaping ghost.

"How? Are you with him constantly? Does he never leave your sight?" He leans forward, and I am aware of being cast into his shadow. "He could be doing something of the kind right now, and you would have no idea."

His unrelenting logic pierces my defiance as though it were no more substantial than the canvas walls around us, and I see the brokenness of my gaze reflected in his sudden sympathy. "I'm sorry," he grunts, with no slight difficulty.

"Why?" I struggle against the urge to wring my hands. "Even if it's true… why tell me? Why not just let me go on with my life?"

"I could use your help." These four words, spoken in the disgusted tone of a confession, are as grudging as his apology.

This time, I do allow my hands to close into fists. "You have some nerve to come here, slander a good man, and expect me to help you do anything."

"He isn't a good man."

"What do you know about him? What do you know about anything?"

"More than you do, evidently."

I turn away from him. "Please, go away. I won't… I can't trust a stranger over Joseph. You must understand that." I close my eyes. "How could you ever understand what he means to me, what he's been to me?"

He doesn't move, and when I glance back in his direction, I see that he looks stricken, for the second time today. "How, indeed, Mademoiselle?" he murmurs.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be assuming things about you. But, please… will you just go away, and leave us in peace?"

"Don't you want to know if I'm right?"

On some level, I note the desperation in his tone; on another, more conscious tier of my mind, I dismiss it as a trick of my hearing. "I already know you're wrong. I trust him; I don't need any of your proof."

He smirks, but I can see right through the deceptively thin mask of his cavalier attitude. "Then what are you afraid of finding? If he's innocent, then it won't matter if you help me; you won't be betraying him. In fact, you'll be helping him, by proving his innocence."

I retrace his trail of logical arguments multiple times, and fail to find any fault with it. As much as I hate to admit it, he's right; if I refuse, it will be as good as admitting that I think Joseph might be guilty. And I don't, no matter what this man says, or with how much conviction he can say it.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, and a sigh escapes me in the wake of my surrender.

Noir smiles, and this time, there is no mistaking his relief. "Thank you, Laila."

"Don't thank me." I have to force myself to glare at him, and I worry that the expression will be less convincing for it. "Once we've proven you wrong, you'll get out of our lives, and never show your face again. Promise me that."

His shoulders descend in an abbreviated bow, causing his hair to fall around his face in a curtain. "Of course. I promise to leave you in peace." He straightens up. "If I'm wrong, that is."

"And you are."

"We'll see about that." Somehow, these words sound at once soothing and threatening, and I am reminded that, whatever my instinctive opinions or attractions to him, Noir has the potential to be a very dangerous man.

The sooner that I get rid of him, the better.


	3. Dominion, Reversed

Chapter 3: Dominion, Reversed

This is ridiculous.

The night air tugs at my light garments in weak, yet chilly gusts; the stars, and the sliver of moon that I glimpsed upon Noir's departure from my tent, are hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. Absently, I wonder whether it might rain, and hope that it won't.

Almost as soon as Noir removed himself from my sight, I began to have doubts about our bargain. Was I really serving everyone's best interests, including Joseph's, by agreeing to help him? Was his logic really that airtight, or was there something else behind it, something that I, in my comparative lack of experience, am not empowered to unearth? Finally, and perhaps most bleakly, does any of it matter, now that I'm mere steps from infiltrating the sanctuary of Joseph's tent, now that there's almost no chance of going back?

I shake my head forcefully. Regret is wasteful; right or wrong, my choice has been made, and I will see it through. I would rather grant Noir's request, and have my belief in Joseph reinforced, than spend the rest of our time together wondering if Noir was right, if perhaps I really don't know anything about the most important person in my life. Doubt is insidious, after all, and it can poison even the most pure relationships.

That, at least, I have experienced firsthand.

Noir's request was almost laughably simple; he could likely have fulfilled it himself in half the time that it took to convince me to do it. '_All I want is for you to visit his tent, and look for anything strange.'_ I hear his chuckle echoing through my mind. '_If he's left the gem lying around,_ tant mieux, _but any evidence you can bring back would be useful.'_

'_Why me?' _I hear my own voice asking.

I recall the way Noir's eyes held my own in that moment, and feel a shadow of the same feeling that gripped me then in the pit of my stomach. '_He'd never suspect you.' _His smile flashes through my mind's eye, and the strange feeling evaporates. '_Besides, if I brought something back, you could accuse me of trying to frame him. Better you see for yourself.'_

In the moment, I had agreed wholeheartedly; now, as I step over the threshold of the ringmaster's tent, and across the point of no return, I am not so certain.

Joseph's tent is, of course, larger than my own; I've only been inside it on a few occasions, none of which are recent enough to provoke anything but the vaguest recollections. Joseph himself is not here, and I frown. I had almost been hoping to find him, and with him an excuse for not complying with Noir's request. After all, I could hardly be expected to ransack the place while he was here.

Perhaps I should continue to approach this situation fatalistically, and take Joseph's absence as a sign that I should get to work.

My gaze slides cursorily over the accumulated clutter, the relics of a disorganized man's life, as I move among it. Most of his luggage is sitting in the corner, likely still packed; from the thin layer of dust that I observe on the nearest of the bags, I'd wager that they haven't been touched since we set up here last week. _Noir said that the gem was given to him four days ago… there's probably nothing in there, then._

My cloak brushes one of the jars of stage makeup on the small desk which occupies the center of the room, and I catch it just in time to keep it from spilling. As I replace it on the desk, I note the rest of the items there, and see nothing out of the ordinary; the tools of our trade, and a few assorted trinkets, the stories behind some of which I can remember Joseph sharing with me over the years. I touch some of these thoughtfully, and close my eyes for a moment.

_This is ridiculous_, I repeat, and am about to leave the tent when Joseph's silhouette fills the exit.

For a few agonizing seconds, we stare at each other, and I am hard pressed to tell which of us is more surprised at the situation. Joseph, of course, finds his voice first, and though he has done a good job of composing his features, a certain furtiveness remains in his eyes. "Laila. What are you doing here?" His tone is steady, even conversational, but I am aware of a slight quiver behind it, a hesitation which would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him as well as I do.

Or, at least, as well as I thought I did.

"I'm sorry." The words come out in a rush, and I force myself to breathe properly before I risk speaking again. "I was looking for you, and I decided to wait inside until you came back." I glance up at the slate-grey sky, just beyond his shoulder. "It looked like it might rain."

His face softens immediately, and while its predominant tone is that of his usual paternal indulgence, there is an undercurrent of something else, not entirely unlike relief. "No need to apologize, Laila. I was just out walking… getting a bit of fresh air before the rain starts." He comes toward me, and I fight the urge to recoil. "Is something the matter? You seem a bit pale."

I shake my head. "No, it's nothing… I probably should have left it until tomorrow, anyway." I force a smile, and hope that it won't seem as false to him as it feels to me. "You seem as tired as I am. We should both get our rest."

On any other night, I would have expected Joseph to press me further, to insist that I tell him whatever had been important enough to make me not only visit him, but wait for his return. Tonight, however, I am not at all surprised to hear him say, "You're right. I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Yes, of course." I manage to hold my smile in place until the flap of his tent descends between us; once I am out of his sight, though, my face falls, and when I am next aware of my surroundings, I find myself curled up in the space between two of the nearby tents, my cloak tucked around me in defiance of the fledgling drizzle. It feels as though a thousand voices are shouting at me, and I desperately try to carve out a quiet corner in my mind, at least large enough to permit coherent thought.

Joseph is hiding something; even a child would have seen that. He wasn't expecting to find me in his tent, and when he did, he was scared, presumably because he was worried I may have found something incriminating… which means that there was something incriminating to find.

The gem itself, perhaps?

No, that's unlikely; if he thought there was the slightest chance that I'd found the gem, he would never have let me go so easily. Besides, it wouldn't make any sense for him to leave it in his tent unattended, where anyone could stumble upon it, as I might have. Something else, then… something which would have, at best, cast suspicion on him, and at worst, proven that he's a criminal.

I close my eyes, and press my hand to my forehead as I try to come to terms with the increasing probability of Noir's accusations. A mere three hours ago, I would never have suspected Joseph of anything; now, I'm almost ready to turn him in to the authorities on the words of a stranger and the strangeness of a single conversation.

How very pathetic I am… and how very shallow this emotion that I mistook for love has turned out to be.

With the sting of Guilt's first lashes freshly branded onto my heart, I step out of my hiding place, and stop short as I see Joseph disappear into the shadows behind his tent. He's walking quickly, in much more of a hurry than usual, and before another thought can cross my mind, I am following him. It may be dangerous, and I may be betraying him, but one way or another, I need to know.

In the end, perhaps some things are that simple.


	4. Change

Chapter 4: Change

I follow Joseph through the thin woods around our camp for what seems like a long while, but which the objective part of my mind is aware must be no more than five minutes. At least four times, Joseph turns to look over his shoulder, and though he usually hesitates longer than I consider natural before moving on, I am confident that I have not been discovered.

He stops beside an abnormally-twisted tree and glances around furtively; I crouch behind a fallen log, and lean back against the trunk of a more ordinary tree, a position which affords me suitable cover without making it impossible to observe Joseph's activities. It strikes me suddenly that Noir would be proud, but before I can explore this line of thought any further, I realize that Joseph and I are not alone.

The man in the hooded cloak appears so naturally from the darkness that, for a moment, I mistake him for Noir; the flash of skin that I glimpse beneath his cowl, however, are far too pale for this to be the case, and I allow myself a shallow sigh of relief. If there's one thing I don't need, it's more questions.

Hopefully, this stranger will provide answers.

"You're late," he says to Joseph, and his voice has a dangerous edge to it. "Explain yourself."

"Forgive me; I was delayed." The quiver of uncertainty in Joseph's voice is perfectly foreign to me. "We may have some difficulties to deal with."

"What difficulties?" The stranger folds his arms over his chest, seemingly unaware of the rain that has, by now, completely soaked through my clothes.

Joseph glances around again, but I can tell that it's just a nervous reaction; he isn't really seeing anything. "I discovered one of the performers in my tent before I came here. Nothing had been disturbed, but I got a strange feeling from her… I think she knows, or suspects something, though I have no idea how she might have come by such information."

"How she came by it is not important." Though the stranger doesn't raise his voice, these words carry far more of a bite than those that came before them. "How sure are you that she has it to begin with?"

"I…" Joseph hesitates, and I, if such a thing is possible, become more tense. "I cannot dismiss the entire episode as paranoia, but I do not believe that she knows anything substantial. If she did, she would have confronted me with it."

"How do you know?"

I shiver as Joseph speaks his next words, though I have already become used to the rain's chill. "That's the kind of person she is. She's such a child, she couldn't keep a secret to save her life."

I try to disprove his opinion of me by pushing my hurt feelings aside, and though it is a struggle, I do manage to regain enough of my focus to hear the stranger's reply. "I am not reassured by your assessment of her character. I want her dealt with."

Joseph's horrified reticence is apparent in his voice. "Surely, she can be left alone… The gem will be out of the country in a few days. What threat can she pose to our plans at this juncture?"

"I will not learn the answer to that question firsthand!" I take advantage of the ensuing silence to attempt to control the nausea that has risen in my stomach. "I warn you," the stranger all but hisses, "if anything so moronic as misplaced paternal affection gets in the way of this operation, I will personally carve out your trenchant heart with a blunt knife. Kill her, immediately, before she can cause any trouble."

Despite everything, I expect Joseph to defend me again, to attempt to calm the stranger's bloodlust; because of this, I am actually surprised to hear him say, "Killing her immediately may be counterproductive. Even if we manage to finish her quietly, we'll almost certainly be caught disposing of the body. The tents are set up very densely, and many of the performers are light sleepers."

The stranger seems to consider this, as it takes a few moments for him to say, very grudgingly, "I will grant you that. However, we cannot permit her to live."

"Of course not." I chance exposing myself to catch a glimpse of Joseph's face, and the cold pragmatism which dominates it tears me between tears of regret and shrieks of rage. "But, after all, this is a carnival, a place of magic and enchantment…" His lips curl into a cruel smile. "Who knows what… miracles may take place beneath the performance tent?"

The stranger is already turning away, and I slip back into my hiding place. "I care not how you accomplish it; by this time tomorrow, though, that girl must be dead, and the treasure secured." He pauses. "If you let it slip through your hands--"

"If you are so concerned, why don't you take it now?" I peek out of my hiding place once again, and see something in Joseph's hand which glints even in this dim light. From the way his fingers curve around it, it must be fairly large, easily the largest gem I've ever seen. "You seem so confident in your ability to handle it… why don't you take the responsibility?"

"Would that I could, but my task is far more dangerous; the gem would not be safe with me, and it would be infinitely harder for me to pass it along when the time came." I can hear the sneer in the stranger's voice as I take cover once again. "Are you admitting your ineptitude, finally?"

"Hardly. I am simply making a point." Footsteps move through the leaves, coming toward me, and I press myself further back against the safety of the tree. "The operation will be carried out flawlessly," Joseph promises, and his shadow flickers through my vision as he stalks back toward camp. Seconds later, I hear the stranger leave as well.

I wait until long after their footsteps have vanished from my hearing before I rise, very unsteadily, and begin to make my own way back to camp. As I stumble through the woods, I notice a sharp branch and, on impulse, break it off its tree and conceal it in my cloak. It won't be much of a weapon, but it's preferable to having to defend myself barehanded.

I try to ignore the inner voice that tells me that I won't have the nerve to use it even if Joseph attacks me on my way back.

-----

The trip back to my tent is both slow and uneventful; as it comes into sight, the rain starts to taper off, and I sigh as I tug at my clothes in a futile attempt to stop them from clinging to my body. _At least the night's been consistently unpleasant._

Noir is not in my tent when I enter it, and I step back outside. "Noir?" I whisper as I pivot slowly, examining each of the many patches of shadow which might be large enough to conceal a man. My hand drifts down to my cloak, and my fingers close around the thick end of the branch hidden there just as someone taps me on the shoulder, very gently.

I whirl around, holding the branch before me in both hands, and meet Noir's amused eyes. "You called, Mademoiselle?" he asks, and the sound of his voice is so powerfully comforting that I feel I might cry.

Instead, however, I lower the branch and sigh. "Yes, I did. I thought you'd gone."

He shakes his head. "Certainly not. I merely wanted to save you the potential embarrassment of having a strange man detected in your sleeping quarters." His gaze flicks down to the branch in my hand, and becomes inquisitive. "May I ask?"

I look at the branch as though I've never seen it before, and toss it away with a heavier sigh. "I… I don't even know where to start."

"I see." He pauses. "I hope you will forgive my pragmatism, but… what did you find out?"

I open my mouth to reply, and the first words of the story nearly burn my throat. I am seized by a desperate impulse to unburden myself completely, to share the weight of my newfound demons with him, to take advantage of his easy compassion. Just as I draw breath to speak, however, something stops me. _What's wrong?_

I close my eyes, and try to define my motivations more accurately. On the surface, there's basic reluctance to speak of the situation, the ordinary fear that giving the pain voice will somehow make it more real. Beneath that, there's a lingering mistrust of Noir, who, after all, I've only just met. And, finally, at the deepest point I can reach, I find something which disgusts me: my loyalty to Joseph, buried but not broken. _If I confirm his suspicions, if I tell him Joseph really does have what he wants, what will he do to him? Will he confront him? Will he hurt him? Will he kill him?_

I open my eyes, and stare into Noir's. _Yes… if it came to that… I believe he would._

"Laila?" Noir's voice is soft, as though he's trying to coax a timid animal into eating.

"I'm sorry." I swallow the words I had meant to speak, the words I want even now to say, and replace them with hollow apologies. "I can't help you. I'm sorry." I turn away from him.

He grabs my arm, and spins me to face him again. "What happened? Did he catch you?" Violence rises into his eyes, and they seem to flare. "Did he threaten you?"

I tug at my arm and, surprisingly, Noir releases me. "Please, stop it. Please… go away."

Instead, he takes a step forward. "He's dangerous, you know. If he comes after you, you won't stand a chance, no matter how many sharp sticks you're carrying around." The softness of his expression is in perfect contrast to the hardness of his words. "You promised to help me, and it looks like it's gotten you into some trouble… I want to help you in return, but I can't do a damn thing unless you tell me what's going on."

"I can't. I won't." I lick my lips. "There's nothing going on."

"Don't give me that--"

"Stop it!" I shout, and candle flames ignite in two of the nearby tents. "I should never have agreed to help you; I should never have listened to you. Go away!"

I can tell that he still wants to fight, that this is not over for him by any means; however, now that I've alerted the rest of the camp, he has no choice but to leave or be discovered. "You're making a stupid decision, Laila," he says, and before the warning has had time to dissipate from the air between us, he is gone.

I press a hand to my head, and stare into the patch of darkness which seemed to swallow him, as though he were nothing but a phantom. _I'm sorry_, I will him to understand.

_Not as sorry as you're going to be_, his voice, already so internalized, replies.


	5. The Lovers

Author's Note: This will be the final chapter of this story. Thanks, as always, to everyone who stuck with it this far. I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I recognize that elements of this chapter were inspired by Paula Cole's song, "Throwing Stones".

Chapter 5: The Lovers

Exhaustion sends me into a deep sleep as soon as I lie down, and for the first few moments following my awakening the next morning, I am blissfully unaware of the events of the previous night. Everyday concerns, like whether I'll have the chance to practice fortune telling after rehearsal, and whether the audience will enjoy our performance, fill my mind, and I revel in their beautiful simplicity without quite remembering why I had expected to wake up to anything different.

Moments later, my memories of the previous night return in sharp, flickering images: Noir standing before me, not two feet from where I lie now, and accusing Joseph of being a thief; myself in Joseph's tent, trying desperately to prove him innocent; the sound of Joseph's voice as he agreed to kill me. Each tears through my mind with the force of a hurricane, sweeping away my delusion of ordinary piece by precious piece, until the only image left to me is that of Noir vanishing into the night, leaving me alone with my stubborn defiance.

Rising to greet the next chapter in such a life is nearly more than I can bear. Even once I've managed it, I have no idea how, and even less idea why.

----

I spend the majority of the day tensed and ready for anything; when I finally arrive at the performance tent, in the wake of nothing out of the ordinary, I am thoroughly exhausted by the anticipation. Because of this distraction, I give an uncharacteristically bad performance, nearly losing my balance completely twice, and so I am not nearly as alarmed as I should be when Joseph asks me to stay behind.

"Are you feeling alright, Laila?" he asks me once we are alone.

I study his face, and find only his usual paternal concern there. The contrast between what I see and what I know exists feels as though it might rip me apart, but I force myself not to show it. "Yes: I'm sorry. I wasn't focusing properly."

Joseph nods, solemnly. "That's alright. Do you want to take the night off? I don't want you to attempt your act if you're not feeling your best." He tilts his head to one side, very subtly. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened."

_Bullshit_, a new mental voice, infinitely harder than my own, says, and the newness of its fury nearly paralyzes me. "Thank you, Joseph, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

He glances up to the high wire, about fifteen feet above the ground, and I realize that the unease which crosses his face is profoundly false. Was he always so transparent, or am I simply seeing him for the first time? "I still don't feel right," he presses, and then, too quickly to be sudden, a solution dawns on him. "Tell you what. Why don't you give it another shot, and if you can get through the routine, you can perform tonight. If anything happens, or if I still feel hesitant about it, you sit this one out. Fair?" He smiles dotingly, and I smile back, insincerely.

_No witnesses_, the new mental voice whispers. _He can make it look like an accident… the perfect opportunity… _I visualize a different, more powerful version of myself leaning over my shoulder, and can nearly feel her lips against the shell of my ear. _He plans to kill you now. Confront him before he can. He doesn't know that you know. You have the advantage._

I study Joseph, and fight the urge to shake my head. _Even if I fight him now, I can't win. He'll overpower me._ I swallow. _I have no choice but to do as he says._

_There's always a choice. _The other me sounds disappointed, but accepting. _Forewarned is forearmed._

"Laila?"

The other me vanishes at the sound of Joseph's voice, and I hold my eyes closed for a moment as I mourn her absence. "Deal," I say, with only the barest hint of my usual good humour.

"Deal," Joseph echoes, and moves to a proper vantage point, almost all the way back against the wall of the tent. I, for my part, turn and grasp the first rung of the ladder leading up to the high wire.

Before I begin to climb, however, another seemingly-foreign impulse seizes me, and I turn away from the ladder. "Joseph?" I call.

"Yes?" he calls back.

I look over my shoulder at him, and am powerless to define the emotion that I suddenly feel plastered onto my face. Judging from how stricken Joseph looks, though, it must be very powerful.

"I love you," I say, very sadly, and begin to climb.

"Where'd that come from?" he shouts after me, and I don't need to see his face to know how shaken he is.

I hope he reads his reply in the trust that, even now, at this juncture, is powerful enough to make me step out onto the wire, and into the dubious realm of his mercy.

For the first segment of my act, which I execute flawlessly, I am able to slip into a part of my mind which knows nothing of betrayal, to which Joseph is still just a kindly employer, and perhaps also a convenient replacement for my absent father. The innocence of the part of me that lives there is charming, infectiously so, and I feel contentment relaxing my limbs as I step into the centre of the wire.

Her spell is shattered by two shouted words, born of a somewhat-familiar voice. "Laila! Jump!"

Thoughtlessly, I obey. Something sharp whizzes by my ankle as I begin to fall, and I hear the wire snap behind me. Beneath me, I notice snatches of colour: the reddish walls of the tent, the brown cloth of its floor. Then, I notice the man charging toward me, little more than a slash of black, and have only moments to realize his identity before I land heavily in his arms.

"Too close," Noir mutters as he sets me down.

"Thank you for coming," I whisper, fighting both the urge to cry and the desire to bury my face in his jacket.

He says nothing, and together, we turn to face Joseph. The expression on his face is as completely alien to me as the gun in his hand, and it takes me far longer than it should to realize that the gun is pointed straight at me.

"I didn't want to believe it," he growls. I stand my ground, and when Noir moves to shield me, I take a step forward. I will face the monster to which I have spent so much of my conscious life in service alone; it is no more than I deserve for believing in him so unshakably, so stupidly. "You, of all people… so ungrateful."

"I wanted to protect you."

"Shut up!" His gaze, increasingly frantic, flicks toward Noir, though the gun's sight does not follow it. "And you… who the Hell are you supposed to be?"

"Laila, get behind me," Noir says, as though Joseph has not spoken.

I shake my head. "No," I whisper. "Get out of here while I distract him."

Joseph flicks the gun's hammer back, and narrows his eyes. "You God-damned bitch in heat… betraying me for that pretty boy." He sniffs. "We could have had a place for you, Laila… such a damn waste."

"I would never have been part of your organization."

"You would have done as you were told… just like you always did." His finger grows tighter on the trigger, and, finally, I cannot help but close my eyes.

I hear a snap, not entirely unlike a gunshot, and a flash illuminates the darkness behind my eyelids for a moment; in the next second, I hear Joseph curse, and feel the breeze of Noir's passage as he runs forward. Then, the unmistakable crack of a whip fills the tent, and Joseph screams in pain and fury.

Only then do I open my eyes, and take in the scene before me. Noir is holding one end of a whip, the other end of which is wound around the wrist of Joseph's gun arm; on the floor between us are the remains of a particularly potent firework. As I watch Joseph struggle, Noir jerks his arm expertly, and the noise of the gun striking the ground is lost beneath the synergy of Joseph's wrist bones breaking and his anguished scream. Pity rises in me, but I crush it beneath as much logic as I can piece together in this world gone mad. _A weapon. I need to help Noir._

With a wild grimace, Joseph tugs on the whip, forcing Noir to stumble forward a step; I glance around, and seize one of the staves with which the gladiators practice their mock fighting. A _swish _fills my hearing then, and I recall hearing a similar noise when the wire broke even as Noir grunts and falls to one knee, clutching his whip arm. _Throwing knives. _

I watch Joseph as I begin to circle the two men, holding the staff out in front of me defensively, but his full attention is focused on Noir. "Good effort," he says as he unwinds the whip from his arm, and tosses it away, "but a boy like you should know better than to stick your nose into the affairs of men."

"Some man." Noir's sneer is brave, but I can see that he's in more pain than he'd admit. "Couldn't even bring yourself to kill her face to face."

Joseph reaches into his jacket for another knife; I see it glint as I raise the staff to strike him. "Save me a spot in Hell," he says.

My hands tremble as I fight to bring down the staff, and I feel the other me setting her own over them. _Do it, Laila. Take our life back. Make him pay. _A shudder runs through me as Joseph raises his arm, but her voice overwhelms my fear, and as it rises in me, the Tarot cards which came up in Noir's reading flash through my mind's eye.

The Emperor. _A tyrant, interested only in what others can do for him… interested only in using you._

Dominion, Reversed_. Realizing that he isn't what you thought he was; finally beginning to wake up._

Change. _The chance to escape from him, from the lies he's fed you._

The Lovers. I look at Noir, and our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. _Building a new life with someone you can rely on… someone I can trust._

My resolution mingles with the other me's white-hot anger, and I stop trembling. "Liar," I whisper, and Joseph begins to turn too late; I see him moving in slow motion, and the staff is descending far too quickly. "Liar!" My voice becomes a shriek, and the wood splinters as it makes contact with his head, just above the left eye.

He falls to his knees, and I do as well; our eyes meet, and I feel as though I will never forget his expression of glazed hatred. "Joseph… I'm so sorry." I reach out to touch his face, and as he collapses onto his side, a trickle of blood falls onto my hand from the wound on his head. I stare at it as though it might burn my flesh, and begin to cry.

"Laila." Through my blurred vision, I watch Noir tug the knife from his shoulder and half-stumble, half-crawl over to me, stepping over Joseph's body on the way.

"What have I done?" I manage, and he wraps his arms around me.

"The right thing," he murmurs.

I pray that, one day, that knowledge will be some consolation.

----

"Come with me."

I blink, and look up at Noir as we stand together in the shadow of the performance tent. He's still holding his handkerchief against the wound in his shoulder, but I can tell that the bleeding has nearly stopped. "With you? But…" My denials, which seemed so clear as they pass through my mind, dry up in my throat, leaving only a single word behind them, like impurities left behind by distilled water.

"Yes," I say, and smile at him. "Yes, I'll come with you."

He smiles back, and opens his free hand; in it is the gem we've stolen from Joseph, the rock that started everything. It looks smaller, somehow, than when I glimpsed it in the forest, and I am both attracted to and repulsed by it. "Take it, Laila," Noir says as I reach for it, tormented. "As a relic of the past… and a symbol of the future."

I close my left hand over it, and accept his gift; as I tuck it away into one of my costume's pockets, I lift my right hand into its place. "Let's go," I say.

He nods. "Yes."

This time, we fade into the gathering darkness together.


End file.
